This is My Life
by sammasterpiece
Summary: <html><head></head>The story of a girl, her life, and Marianas Trench, the band that changed everything.</html>
1. Introduction

_This is a story about Marianas Trench; this is a story about me. This is a story about the band and about my life, and about how the two intertwine and relate. This is Marianas Trench explained through my life, and my life explained through Marianas Trench. There's no other way to do it really, since when you think about it the two are the same. _

_This is a story about Marianas Trench, and how they changed my life. Not only how they changed it, how they saved it._


	2. Sicker Things

_I remain unknown..._

White noise was all I could hear; it's all I ever heard. You know the sound of static on a radio turned low, so it's just tuneless noise in the background? That was what my life sounded like. Occasionally something broke the monotony, like a tuning dial had been slightly turned and I could hear the words on the next station over.

Sometimes I could see the static, too. I know sound isn't supposed to be visible, but if it was, I knew what it would look like. It appeared in front of my eyes like a swarm of bees, or a flurry of snowflakes, or a rainbow breaking apart.

It was only silence I was hearing, really. Silence was like the cold, or the colour black: it didn't really exist at all, it was just the absence of something else. I was unsure of how something that didn't actually exist could seem so loud.

But then again, I guess there was the obvious answer: I had gone insane.

To be honest, I preferred this type of insanity to what my life would be like without it. I preferred the sound of memories – could memories make a sound if I refused to hear? – to the sound of real life. At least this way I could scream as loud as I wanted and wouldn't hear a thing.

I wanted to scream often. Sometimes it felt like my entire body was a scream built up behind a wall of silence and static and if I hadn't gone insane yet, I was sure to soon.

In the end, it was only one thing that stopped me from going insane, really. It's a long, winding path that took me from the brink of insanity to recovery, and I'm going to take you down that path, to the best of my ability. And I guess the best place to start, on any path or in any story, is at the beginning.

This story begins with a room.

_I'm bleeding where I bled; I'm hiding where I hid. I'm entertaining sicker things._

I allowed my silent cocoon to enfold me, throwing myself face-first down on my bed. The sound of static filled my ears, tuneless buzzing that I tried to ignore. I knew that if I bothered to listen hard enough, the static would turn into shouts and screams and broken dishes. I never even tried to listen anymore. To listen was to feel, and all I ever felt was pain.

Despite my best intentions, the static was broken and I heard the voices downstairs for a brief moment.

"You two-faced bastard!" The smashing of a plate against the wall.

I buried my face in my pillow, pushing it against my ears in an attempt to block out the noise and bring back my comforting silence. For once it didn't work; although the voices downstairs were quieted, different ones started up in my head, forcing me to relive a moment I'd rather forget.

_"You bastard!" I screamed. "You lying, filthy, cheating bit of scum!"_

"Anna, it's not –"

"Not how it looks, is it?" I sneered. "Well then, Cole, why don't you tell me what it's supposed to look like?" I turned away, not giving him time to respond. I was crying, hot, angry tears, but I refused to let him see them.

"You know what?" I said quietly. "Fuck you." And I marched out of the door and out of his life.

I lurched up from my bed, the image of walking through his door and finding him kissing another girl still floating across my eyes. Unsure of where I would go, I stalked out of my room and down the stairs. "I'm going out!" I called out to no one in particular, knowing that they wouldn't hear me over the sound of their own screams.

The door slammed behind me with some finality, leaving me enshrouded in silence once again.

_I wasn't that surprised, it's always part of my awkward attempts to stay gone._

Kennedy stared at me appraisingly after I'd finished explaining why I had suddenly shown up outside her front door. "You know what you need?" she announced. "A night out."

I glanced at the clock; it was already seven. I then glanced down at my clothes: a wrinkled t-shirt and a pair of jeans. "But –"

Kennedy smirked, reading my mind. "Don't worry," she said. "You won't need to wear anything fancy to where we're going tonight. Now go clean up your face, you look a wreck."

I was ashamed to say that a tear or two may have escaped in Kennedy's presence, but she was my best friend for a reason. Obediently, I did as she said, wiping mascara-lined tear tracks off my face and reapplying a new layer of makeup to my eyes. When I had finished, Kennedy more or less dragged me out of her room and into her car.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"You'll see," Kennedy replied enigmatically. I sighed; it was what I had expected.

We ended up at a small outdoor venue in a grassy park downtown. It looked pretty dead; we were the only ones there, except for a few people strolling along the pathways. A ragged poster taped to a lamppost announced that Marianas Trench would be playing at 8:30.

"Marianas Trench?" My brow wrinkled. "Who's that?"

"A local band. They're new, but good."

"Kennedy, there's no one here!" I hissed.

She shook her head sadly. "They're not exactly a big thing yet." I snorted; that was an understatement. "Maybe more people will show up after they start playing," she added hopefully.

We made our way to the front of the stage, which wasn't difficult considering the lack of a crowd. I had to admit I wasn't as excited as Kennedy seemed to think I should be; ever since I had tried to block noise out of my life, I hadn't really paid too much attention to music. It all sounded the same after a while, just more static, and judging by the number of people here, this band wasn't anything special.

When the band finally hit the stage, I thought it unlikely that my opinion was going to change. They were young, only a few years older than me. A band fresh out of high school, trying to make it big. Just like hundreds of others. I snorted again.

Within a couple of minutes, I had changed my mind. Their music was different; far from monotonous static. It thrummed through my body. I could feel the drumbeat shake the ground beneath my feet. And the lyrics and the voice of the lead singer cut right through to my core.  
>I hadn't felt like this in a long time. Maybe I had <em>never<em>felt like this.

I found myself singing along to the raw music, even though I didn't know the words. There was something different about this band: the music wasn't dressed up behind techno beats and recorded voices; it was real. Pure talent, pure emotion. Somehow, the words coming out of the lead singer's mouth described me, and the way I'd felt for months now.

_"Backwards leaving, daily beatings. Stupid reasons, useless feelings."  
><em>  
>I remained enthralled for the duration of the concert, and when the boys left the stage – much too soon, in my opinion – I cheered loudly, not caring that Kennedy and I were the only ones. The straggly crowd that had collected, attracted to the loud noise, dispersed almost immediately. However, I hung around with Kennedy afterwards, hoping to have a word with the band.<p>

We didn't have to wait for long; the band members appeared a few minutes later carrying their instruments towards a van parked on the side of the road. Hesitantly, we started towards them. The bassist, a guy with curly hair, tapped the lead singer on the back when he saw us approaching.

He turned, as did the other band members, and I suddenly felt a nervous thrill. But this wasn't like meeting other bands; these guys were just teenagers, like us. So I strode forwards with Kennedy by my side.

"Marianas Trench, right?" I asked the lead singer.

"Actually, my name's Josh," he replied sardonically. "But if I remember correctly, yes, that is the name of our band."

I could feel myself blushing. "I just wanted to tell you guys that you made a new fan tonight."

"Another one?" This time it was the guitarist who spoke. "Dude, that's two this week!" He extended a fist, which Josh bumped with his own. They were both grinning; I found that I was too.

"Welcome to the fanbase of ten," the bassist said, extending his hand towards me. On second glance, I saw that both he and the drummer looked a little older than the other two, maybe in their early twenties.

I shook his hand briefly. "There were more than ten people here tonight!" I protested. I was stretching the truth; although the crowd had definitely numbered more than ten at one point, I knew none of them were really interested in the band.

"You're right; there were probably eleven," Josh said.

"Just wait, one day you'll have people lined up to meet you," Kennedy said confidently. I could tell she was pleased I had enjoyed the concert and even more pleased that we were standing here now.

"I'll hold you to that," the bassist said, now holding out his hand for Kennedy to shake.

"Guys, we should get going." The drummer spoke for the first time; he was at the back of the group checking the cases and I almost forgot he was there. "It's almost Matt and Josh's bedtime." He smirked and winked at Kennedy and me.

"Ian, we're not quite _that_young," the guitarist – Matt – said.

"Not like I've never spent whole nights awake before," Josh added, rolling his eyes. "But we really should get going."

"So should we."

"Any chance of seeing you guys at our next show then?"

"If I have anything to say about it," Kennedy said.

I grinned. "We'll be there."

The ride back to my house consisted of us reliving the concert and the conversation with the guys; my insides still buzzed with the thrill of the music. I was the happiest I'd been in a long time: the wall of silence had come down, and I found I didn't mind.

Of course, that all changed when I opened my front door and the realization of reality came crashing back around me.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?" The voice of my dear mother greeted me. "You useless, worthless –"

With a weary sigh I raised the wall of silence back up around me and blocked out the noise.

_I'm sicker than I thought, I'm fighting what I fought. I'm right back where I started from._


	3. Far From Here

_Why do you always end up right back here?_

The white ceiling above my head matched the noise in my ears perfectly. I sighed, regretting the world of silence I had thrown myself back into. Not that I really had a choice, but the music that had taken its place the night before had been a nice change. One I could've gotten used to.

Predictably, I had been punished for staying out late without telling my mom where I was going; in between the dim screams I managed to make out the message that I was to stay in my room for three weeks with no phone or television; the family computer was also off limits. My room was my sanctuary, and normally this punishment would have been more or a relief than anything to me. But now that I had experienced something other than deafening silence, I found it less enjoyable to hear nothing, and it was easier for sounds of the real world to get in.

I sighed again. Kennedy had informed me last night that Marianas Trench had an EP out, but I had no way to get my hands on it until my punishment was over. With their music, I'm sure my grounding would have been a thousand times more bearable.

Instead, I was stuck staring at a white ceiling surrounded by white noise, trying not to hear the frequent screams that punctuated the air downstairs.

On the tenth night, the monotony was broken by the sound of a rock hitting the glass of my window. Kennedy was standing outside.

"What do you want?" I hissed. She knew that I was grounded; it had happened often enough before.

"Marianas Trench!" she called up in a whisper that I was afraid would carry. "They're performing at the Irish Pub at eleven. You coming?"

"A _bar_, Kennedy? How d'you suppose we're gonna get in?" I sighed. "And you know I'm not allowed out of my room."

Kennedy rolled her eyes. "Sneak out!" she responded, as if it was obvious. "Come on, you know you want to come."

She was right, I did. I considered my options. It was 9:30; my mom had already passed out drunkenly on the couch downstairs and wouldn't awaken for hours; my dad wasn't even due home from work 'til 10. They rarely came to check in on me. But if I got caught, I wouldn't be allowed out of the house for a year.

I remembered the experience of more than a week ago, and felt a burning desire to break this terrible silence. Too much more of it, and I would be driven further into insanity than I already was. Besides, the idea of seeing Marianas Trench perform twice in less than two weeks was too wonderful to ignore. When I thought about it, it probably wasn't healthy how quickly I had come to depend on them... I shrugged.

"Okay, I'll be down in a sec."

_I laughed aloud to drown it out, so I could breathe and feel the space around me._

"How do you suppose we're going to get in?" I asked. The adrenaline rush that came with successfully sneaking out of my house still pounded through me, making me feel giddy, but I was beginning to have doubts about this entire scheme.

"Oh I know a guy," she replied smugly. I knew her too well to attempt to pry any further.

The bar was in the dingiest part of downtown. I looked around apprehensively as we walked down the street, on the watch for crackheads and drunks. Outside the bar, a young looking guy was checking ID. Kennedy walked up to him nonchalantly.

"Hey, Buzz," she said.

The guy looked surprised to see her. "Hey Ken! How are you?"

Kennedy smiled. "I'm good, you?"

"Same."

"That's good to hear." Kennedy threw him her most dazzling grin, before leading me casually through the door.

I gaped at her. "How did you do that?"

She smiled mischievously. "It's all about who you know."

We took a seat in a booth and waited for the show to start. I felt extremely out of place, even though I knew no one would look twice at Kennedy or me. The people in the bar were mostly youngish, in their early twenties or so. Some looked bored; some were very obviously already drunk. When Marianas Trench took the stage, I couldn't help but notice how young they looked – especially Matt and Josh – compared to the crowd tonight. I began to wonder if maybe coming here had been a mistake.

I forgot all that once they started to play. It didn't matter that I was underage and in a bar; it didn't matter that I had snuck out of the house. I forgot the alcoholism, the endless fighting, the heartbreak. I left behind every remnant of my ruined life and for a brief time got to live a new one; the drumbeat replaced the beating of my heart, and the music replaced the blood in my veins.

The show was over much too fast.

We rose up from our seats, sighing. As the music faded out, the sound of various conversations faded back in, people who hadn't even paid attention to the show, who were acting as if it hadn't happened. I suddenly become painfully aware of the fact that it was almost midnight; I had snuck out of the house even though I wasn't supposed to leave my room; I had entered a bar illegally just to watch a band perform; and it would be a miracle if I somehow didn't get in any trouble for this.

"Let's go," I hissed at Kennedy, pulling her along behind me. It was probably best if I got home sooner rather than later.

"Wait," she protested. "He's waving at us."

I turned, and surely enough Josh was beckoning us closer. We walked towards them; I needed to get home, but I wasn't going to miss another opportunity to speak to the band.

"You're the same girls from last week, right?"

I found it hard to believe he remembered us, and nodded.

"I thought I recognized you. Aren't you two a little young to be in a bar?" he asked, but there was a half-smile on his face.

"Aren't you only a couple of years older than us?" I retorted.

"Maybe." Josh raised his eyebrows. "But I'm legal, at least."

"Hey, Josh," Ian said, interrupting. "If our fans are willing to break into a bar to see us, we shouldn't try to discourage them."

"We didn't break in!" I protested. Kennedy blushed.

"Oh, really?" Ian said, noticing Kennedy's suddenly red cheeks. "Well, dedicated fans such as yourselves deserve a little gift." He winked.

I could feel my eyes widen, and looking at Kennedy, I could see hers had done the same. See the expressions on our faces, Ian chuckled and Josh let out a loud shout of laughter.

"Don't worry, we're not interested." Ian informed us. "No offense or anything. Hey Mike!" he called to the bassist. "Do we have any CDs for these ladies?"

"Sure thing!" Mike called back. He disappeared momentarily into the back of the bar and re-emerged a few moments later. "You guys interested in one of these?"

It was a copy of their EP. I took mine eagerly. "How much?"

Ian rolled his eyes. "I said it was a gift, remember? Unless you really were looking for..." he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Definitely not," I said firmly. "Besides, we really should get going. It's late."

"Bedtime?" Matt said, speaking for the first time. He was definitely the quiet one; even though he'd been standing off to the side throughout the entire conversation, I almost forgot he was there.

"No," I said, rolling my eyes at him. "But seeing as I snuck out of the house just to see you guys, I should probably get home sooner rather than later."

"Oho, breaking the rules _and_the law for us!" Ian exclaimed. "Guys, I think we've found our first hardcores."

"Our _only_hardcores," Matt said.

"Don't worry, more will come," Ian said confidently.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Josh put in. "Our music _is_kinda shitty."

"You're the one who writes our music!"

Josh shrugged. "Yeah, it's still kinda shitty."

Kennedy and I stayed silent, amused by their bickering. However, time was passing and I was growing more anxious by the second. "Listen, we really do need to get going."

"Yeah, I suppose we do," Kennedy said, sounding reluctant.

"Well if you manage to get home without getting in _too_much trouble," Mike said, "what do you say to coming out to watch us next week? We have a gig at Stanley Park on Saturday, opening for a more well-known band."

"Which is pretty much _every_band," Matt muttered.

Mike ignored him. "Anyway, it's a good opportunity, and you guys are the only fans of ours we know for certain will be there. Interested?"

"Of course!" Kennedy exclaimed.

"Definitely," I agreed. "Assuming I'm not grounded for a year." That possibility seemed more and more likely with every minute that passed. "But now we _really_need to go." I grabbed Kennedy by the arm and made for the door.

"See you guys next week!" she called.

"Hopefully," I added under my breath.

I knew something was wrong as soon as we pulled into my driveway. The living room light was on, as well as the one in my parents' bedroom.

"Shit," I muttered.

_And I don't think this is what you wanted now..._

The bout of yelling that followed was one of the worst I had ever endured. My silent wall was beginning to show fractures; even my dad's interventions couldn't calm my mom down. It didn't help she had woken up from her drunken haze, and was in an even worse mood to show for it. I withstood it stoically, not saying a word. Arguing back would make it worse; defending myself would make no difference.

The sting of a slap brought me out of my apathetic haze. "_Are you listening to me?_" she screamed.

Eyes burning, I turned away, raising my hand to the slapped cheek. The skin was unnaturally warm. "I try not to," I whispered.

Another slap; a finger pointing up the stairs, to my room. I couldn't hear anything but the ringing of her flesh hitting mine; it ricocheted around in my mind like a bullet in a metal room.

My dad's lips moved, telling me something. It might've been _I'm sorry_, or _I'll talk to her_, or _it'll be okay._I couldn't hear, but it didn't really matter. At that moment I hated him almost as much as I hated her, for not stopping her, for not protecting me, his child. I stumbled up the stairs, not really seeing, trusting my feet to take me to wear I needed to go.

I slammed my door behind me, throwing myself on my bed. Trembling, I withdrew the CD from where I had hidden it in my coat and put it under my pillow. Then, and only then, did I succumb to the tears that I had been containing within my body.

_You always end up here._


	4. September

_So they can watch me explode; another piece of me is gone again._

_Dear Marianas Trench,_

_Dear Josh, Matt, Mike, and Ian,_

_Josh, Matt, Mike, and Ian,_

I stared at the paper in frustration. Nothing sounded right. Deciding I would deal with the greeting later (it wasn't like any of them would see it anyway), I continued on with my letter.

_I'm sure you guys killed it last night. I wish I could have been there, but I think I've done enough breaking of the rules for the moment. Honestly, my punishment could have been much worse; I should consider myself lucky. Although –_

I raised a hand to my cheek, where a shadow of a bruise could still be seen.

_I guess I wish I wasn't just stuck in this room. I wish that instead I could be out supporting you guys. I wish for a lot of things._

Like a sober mother, and a happy family. A boyfriend that wouldn't cheat, a parent that wouldn't hit while the other stood by doing nothing.

There were some things that were too painful for me to write down, even in a letter that would never be sent.

_I'm so glad Kennedy took me to see your concert a few weeks ago, because you guys saved me. My life still isn't great – hell, at the moment it's probably worse – but your music makes me forget._

God, I was cheesy. Why was I even writing this down?

_I didn't know it was possible for music to make me feel this way. It all sounds the same after a while, but your music is different. It's the only thing that can break through the damned silence._

Silence that until a few weeks ago had been my blessing, and that was now viewed as a curse.  
><em><br>Thanks for the CD. I swear I'll pay you back. I'll pay you back for everything you've done for me, without knowing it; without that CD, I don't know how I would've survived this past week._

It was true; their EP was blasting through my headphones currently, blocking out any other noise. It was more effective than any kind of silence.

_Keep making music. Not because of me, but because it's what you love to do. You guys have talent, and you're going to make it big one day. Just wait._

I can't wait for that day to come. But until then, I'll keep listening to the same six songs over and over, because it's what keeps me sane.

_Love,__ Your biggest fan (for the moment),  
><em>

_Anna._

I stared at the words I had written on the paper, pouring out what I felt in the best way I could. This was ridiculous. Ridiculous that I was so attached to a band I didn't know existed three weeks ago, ridiculous that I was weak enough to admit what I actually felt, ridiculous that at this moment I felt the sting of tears pricking my eyes.

Had nine days of solitary really driven me to this? The more I looked at the letter, the more I saw it as pathetic and cheesy. I refused to crack, I refused to appear weak, even to myself.

I crumpled the letter up and threw it against the wall.

_Lost and useless, no more bruises; I'll burn this place down._

August fell into September, bringing with it my final year of high school. For the first time I was marginally looking forward to it; any place had to be better than my house, which was filled with silence for once not of my own making.

Almost a month into the new school year, I had my first run-in with Cole; my heart wrenched when I saw him walking arm-in-arm with another girl, a cocky grin on his face. Before I could turn and run, he noticed me and started to walk towards me. I didn't want to deal with this right now.

"So how was your summer?" Cole asked. I couldn't believe he had the audacity to talk to me like nothing had happened.

"Not as good as yours, I'm sure," I said coldly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I stared pointedly at the girl beside him. She looked awkward and out of place. I couldn't say I pitied her. "Or did your conscience finally start to weigh on you?"

He looked confused. "What do you mean?"

I sighed. He was being extremely dim. "You _cheated_on me!"

"Look Anna, I'm really sorry –"

"Too late for that now," I snarled. The fact that he was acting like it didn't even mattered enraged me almost to the point of tears.

"Let me finish." He looked angry. "I'm sorry for how it made you feel, I really am. But I'm not sorry for what I did."

For once, I was completely speechless. I glared at him in silence for a moment, and he glared back. Finally, in a low, shaking voice I said, "Fuck you."

It was the same words I had said to him before storming out of his house several months ago, and I knew he recognized them. His eyes flashed. "You only wish you had," he retorted.

"In what world would I screw around with a person like you?"

"Don't pretend you never wanted it," he spat.

I bristled. That was going too far. I was vaguely aware of the small crowd that had gathered to watch our loud argument in the middle of the hallway. "Don't pretend you didn't want it either."

"You don't know what I wanted. You just know I didn't want you."

Taking a step forward, I raised my hand as if to slap him. Then I remembered the sound my mother's hand had made against my cheek, the burning sting that had followed. I wouldn't become someone like that. Shaking, I lowered my hand, instead turning away. "I hate you."

And for the second time in as many meetings, I found myself stalking away from Cole with tears streaming down my face.

_Nobody is wrong, and nobody is right; then how come tonight another piece of me is gone again?_

I opened the door as quietly as possible, fearing the wrath of my mother. By now, she would have heard from the school that I had skipped out.

Sure enough, the sounds of yells reached my ears, but they were of a different quality. Indirect; not aimed at me. I paused in the doorway, listening, not sure if I wanted to hear.

"She deserves everything she's going to get! It's time for you to stop protecting your daughter –" there was a pause, and I realized my mother was talking on the phone.

"That worthless little piece of shit is no daughter of mine," she snarled into the phone. My heart gave a little wrench; these were definitely not words I was meant to hear.

"The little fucker broke the rules again, and I'm going to handle it. Because I know you sure as hell won't." A long pause. The next time my mother spoke, her voice was quieter, dangerous. "I am going to take care of this my way. The girl deserves to have some sense of rules pounded into her head."

Another pause. "You're too soft Richard, you know that? That's probably why your little bitch turned out the way she did. Useless, a waste of space." I was desperately trying to contain my tears; my mother didn't realize I had come home yet and I intended to keep it that way. There was no doubt in my mind that the punishment she had in mind was harsh and painful.

She laughed, an unpleasant, ironic sound. "You can't honestly think you have any say in this, do you? You're going to stand aside, just like you always do." The phone clattered as it was hung back up.

Time to make my escape; with my room in mind I headed stealthily towards the stairs. Tears were blurring my eyes, making it difficult to see, and were the reason I tripped over the fifth step. With a crash, I hit the staircase hard. There was no chance my mother hadn't heard the noise. Within seconds, she had appeared at the bottom of the staircase, a menacing figure.

"Trying to make a cowardly escape, are we?" she sneered.

I glared at her as best I could. "I am not a coward."

"If you weren't a coward, you wouldn't run away from me."

Raising my tear-stained face, suddenly reckless, I said, "Anyone in their right minds would run away from you. I don't know if it's your face, or –" suddenly aware of her poisonous glare, I stopped.

"No, no, finish your sentence." Her voice was low but as hard as steel. It was a command.

I gulped. But I was overcome by a brief fury at this woman who stood in front of me and who I was supposed to call my mother. "Well, you're not exactly the prettiest thing. I mean, your eyes are always bloodshot – too much alcohol probably – and your skin has that greenish tinge. You've put on a bit of weight I see, and when you look at someone like that –" I gulped again. "Well, you look more like a troll than anything."

She advanced on me too quickly for me to move; I saw her hand draw back and heard it slap across my face, feeling the pain a moment later.

"You dare say such things –" her face was red, her eyes livid.

"You asked."

"I am your mother –"

"I refuse to call you my mother if you refuse to call me your daughter!" I put as much venom as I could manage into my words.

She looked dangerous again; quickly I scrambled up the staircase and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Sinking down to the floor, I placed my hand against my painful cheek. My brief anger had subsided, allowing me to feel the initial pain again.

_"Worthless little piece of shit...",_ _"no daughter of mine..."_the words echoed in my head. Cole had cheated on me for a different girl, a better girl; my own mother despised my guts.

I suddenly felt sick to my stomach, as if all these awful feelings were boiling and brooding inside of me. All I wanted was to get rid of them; to live a life where I could be happy. Without thinking, I scrambled over to the toilet and stuck a finger down my throat.

On reflex, all the contents of my stomach emptied into the toilet bowl.

_September falls away 'til I'm broken; I just hate the sound._

I stared at my pale face in the mirror. I felt cleansed, but empty; I wasn't sure if I felt better than before. Would it really be worth it?

My mouth still burned with acid; I could taste the remnants on my tongue. I began to shake violently. Sinking back down to the cool floor, I wrapped my arms around me to try to contain the tremors. Sobs wracked my body, giant upheavals I couldn't contain.

What had I become?

_And I would give you anything to feel something else._


	5. Skin & Bones

_I lock the door, turn all that water on to bury the sound, so no one hears anything anymore._

I sank to my knees in front of the toilet. _I'm always on my knees for you_. The sound of the running tap filled the small bathroom, covering up the noise of my own harsh breathing. This was a familiar process by now, one I had repeated what seemed like hundreds of times.

My stomach was full of the large meal I had eaten in an attempt to quell the terrible emptiness that resided inside of me. Of course, once the emptiness was gone, all I wanted was to have it back.

Why must I always crave things that were the absence of something else? Silence, the absence of noise; emptiness, the absence of ...everything. It was nice to not have to hear or feel, but sometimes I wanted something more.

But the emptiness was better than everything else that was offered to me.

Before I could think too much further, before I could be suspected of doing anything other than going to the bathroom, I stuck my finger down my throat. Enough time had passed that the reflex came easily; on cue, I held my face over the toilet as the half-digested remains of my last meal regurgitated up my throat.

I remained on my knees for several moments afterward, body heaving, tasting acid in my mouth. But I knew I couldn't stay that way for too long and with some effort I dragged myself to my feet and stared at my reflection in the mirror. _Mirror lie to me..._ I looked wasted away, half dead. Most people who did this to themselves believed they were overweight; I had no such misconceptions. I did this because I hated who I was, and surely if there was less of me, I wouldn't have to hate myself so much.

So much had changed over the past months, and none of it for the better. I wasn't allowed out of the house, except to go to school. Life at school was hell; after the fiasco with Cole that took place in front of most of its population, I had become a pariah. Life at home was hell; the fighting between my parents hadn't abated and more and more often it swelled to include me. Sneaking out didn't seem as appealing as it used to. Recently, I'd chosen to act invisible, in order to avoid the taunts of my classmates and the screams of my mother. I hadn't even had a true conversation with Kennedy in what seemed like forever. In order to be invisible, I had to be alone. Maybe I liked being alone best, anyway.

I found myself missing my old life. Back to June, when I had had a boyfriend and a best friend and a life. Back to July even, when my boyfriend had been replaced by music. Now I had none of that. It was already January and I was miserable.

Sighing, I turned my back on the mirror and shook such thoughts from my head. I had already wasted too much time. Quietly I opened the door and slipped out, heading back to my room that was my sanctuary and my prison.

_Maybe you won't be able to recognize me now..._

Kennedy caught up with me the following day after school, as I was walking home through a drizzling rain. "Anna, are you okay?" she asked, forcing me to look at her. Her face was drawn into lines of concern. I looked away, pretending to blink away water.

"I'm fine," I said shortly, lengthening my strides.

She hurried to catch up to me. "Are you really? Because you look awful," she said bluntly.

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Ken."

She ignored my sarcasm. "I haven't talked to you in forever," she pressed. "What happened?"

It was tempting, the urge to tell her everything. _I hate myself, and I find it too difficult to believe that you don't hate me too. I'm always either too empty or not empty enough. I don't know how to fix it. _But I couldn't do that; I couldn't risk driving her away. I valued her friendship too much. I realized that I had missed her too, and I gave her a tight smile. "Just the usual stuff at home. Don't worry about me." She looked less than convinced, so I hurried on. "You're right though, I haven't seen you in forever."

"So what are we going to do about it? Marianas Trench –"

"I'm still grounded, remember?"

"–Is playing tomorrow night at a place downtown." She stopped, blinking at me. "So what? Sneak out."

I sighed, rubbing unconsciously at a bruise on my arm. "I can't."

"Why not? You did it readily enough before."

"And we saw how that turned out, didn't we? Look, I'd rather not get on my parents' bad side for a while." It was partially true, but there was more to it. Usually I'd be aching to see my favourite band perform again, but I hadn't listened to their music in weeks. It was too painful a reminder of that previous summer, and I knew that they wouldn't approve of what I was doing to myself.

"You wouldn't be allowed out of the house? Like, at all?"

I paused. It had been so long since I had actually bothered to ask. "I might be allowed out for a couple of hours," I said.

Kennedy clapped her hands in delight. "Tell your mom you're coming over to study or something, if you don't think she'll let you out."

"Sounds good," I said, trying to sound excited.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Anna, you look like you're wasting away."

I tried not to flinch and forced a smile. "I'll be fine," I said. Maybe if I could make her believe it, I would learn to believe it myself.

I was almost disappointed when she nodded and turned away. "If you say so." There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"Don't worry about me," I repeated firmly, but deep inside part of me was crying out for help.

_I think you won't be able to recognize me now. _

I managed to get permission from my mom to spend the night studying with Kennedy, and she met me after school so we could head back to her house. The concert didn't start until eight o'clock, so we had several hours to kill.

She tried to get me to talk to her.

Kennedy had been my best friend since junior high; I suppose it was to her credit that she realized something was wrong, as much as I denied it. I just regretted the fact that I wasn't able to tell her anything. I wanted to, more and more, but something was holding me back. Perhaps it was caution about not wanting to get her involved; most likely I was afraid that if she knew how fucked up my life had become, she would stop talking to me altogether.

The truth was, I needed her. I realized this more and more as the afternoon wore on, as she stopped prying and started talking about other things, until things had almost returned to normal between us. I had missed her more than I had realized.

She had seen Marianas Trench twice in the past months, she told me. They had been signed to a record label almost a year ago and were slowly working on their first full-length album. They had also wondered where I was. "They'll be happy to see you again," she said with a smile.

That thought made _me_ smile, although I found it hard to believe that I could mean anything to the band that meant everything to me.

_Laughing like it works._

We ordered in pizza for dinner; Kennedy's parents were out and her older brother was spending the night with a friend, so we had the house to ourselves. For a short while, things were almost as they had always been between us. We ate pizza and drank soda and laughed, and I tried my hardest to eat a normal sized portion and to act as I had always acted, before I had torn myself apart. I thought I was doing pretty well.

Until.

I had been fighting down the impulse throughout dinner, determined for once not to let it get the best of me. But I grew increasingly uncomfortable throughout the meal; Kennedy's words faded out as the ache in my stomach grew stronger. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore; the urge I had come to depend on was too great.

I stood up abruptly. "I'll be back in a minute," I said, before running for the bathroom.

_Bleeding like it don't hurt. _

Maybe I had been foolish to pretend to be normal for even an afternoon. I couldn't be normal, not when I was haunted by everything I hated. And at that moment I hated myself more than I thought possible, for everything I had allowed myself to become. I ignored Kennedy's anxious calls behind me, turning into the washroom and switching on the light.

Trembling, I closed the door behind me and took a quick glance in the mirror. I was pale and sweaty, my long hair clinging to my neck. Turning away, I collapsed to my knees in front of the toilet.

_Knock you off your feet, even if you need me. _

I stuck a finger down my throat and allowed everything I had just eaten to come back up again. It burned my throat and tongue. Why was I doing this?

"Anna?"

Kennedy was just outside the door. I couldn't bring myself to respond; I was still panting heavily, my body shaking. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cool porcelain of the bathtub.

_Tear you apart..._

"Anna?" Kennedy's voice came again, more urgent. I struggled into a sitting position just as the door swung open.

I found myself staring into the wide, shocked eyes of my best friend.

_And I hate how I need you._


	6. Low

**Author's Note: Sorry about the slow update. I put this away for a couple of months and got caught up in school and stuff. Now that school's over, I should be updating much more often.  
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><p><em>I think the problem here is there's nothing wrong...<em>

We were trapped in a frozen silence that seemed to last forever. Kennedy's mouth was half open, an accusing look in her eyes.

"I...I wasn't feeling well," I managed weakly.

Worry and concern were plainly written on her face. "Are you sure you're okay, Anna?"

I gave her a forced smile. "I'll be fine."

She didn't look convinced. "Are you sure you're not..."

"Definitely not," I hurried to assure her. "The pizza just didn't sit right with me, I guess."

"Will you be okay for the concert?"

"I'm sure I will be. Just...give me a minute, will you?"

"Oh, right! Of course." She looked abashed as she slowly backed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Sighing, I rose to my feet and flushed the toilet before washing out my mouth in the sink. I hated having to lie to her, but what choice did I have? That had been too close already. I shuddered to think what would happen if Kennedy found out what was really happening to me. Of course, the best way to avoid that would be to avoid puking in her bathroom.

I grimaced at myself in the mirror before leaving the bathroom. Kennedy was sitting on a couch downstairs, and looked up as I walked into the room.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," I replied.

"Well enough to go to the concert?"

"Definitely." I forced another smile, and this time it came easier. Maybe eventually, it would come almost naturally. Maybe one day, I wouldn't have to force a smile at all.

_There's something missing; I'm missing the point I did before._

The venue this time was a music centre nestled in downtown Vancouver; it was a small room, hardly big enough for a hundred people. There were about fifty people already there when we arrived, dripping from the rain. It was 7:30, and another band was setting up on stage. I suppose it meant Marianas Trench was gaining popularity, if some band was opening for them. I wasn't sure if I liked that idea or not.

The opening band was alright. Their music was loud enough to drown out my thoughts, which was good. But throughout their set I found myself becoming more and more anxious, waiting for Marianas Trench to take the stage. It had been months since I had heard them live, weeks since I had listened to their music at all, and I was aching for it the way a drug addict needs their next hit.

The crowd had grown to close to a hundred during the band's performance. As it came to a close I cheered with the rest, but I was hopping impatiently from foot to foot, waiting for them to clear the stage and for Marianas Trench to make their appearance.

At last they were gone, and Marianas Trench appeared to set up. Josh looked out at the sparse audience; I gave him a tiny wave. He saw me and smiled, before turning to whisper to his band mates.

From the first chord, I was entranced. I couldn't believe that I had gone so long without this music, when it described my soul. The lyrics, the bass and the drums, the guitar and the vocals – they all came together in a way that was _me_. I sang along, practically screamed; it didn't matter that no one else there knew the lyrics. I was lost in the music.

The set was short, just an hour long. When it was over Kennedy and I made our way to the side of the stage, where they were packing up their stuff.

"Anna!" Matt called. "Been a while since we've seen you around."

I shrugged. "I've been on lockdown for months now. My parents were unbelievably pissed after I snuck out to see you that second time." Rather, my mother had been pissed; as usual, my father had stood off to the side and done nothing. I raised my hand gingerly to the browning bruise that could just be seen under the sleeve of my t-shirt. It was becoming an unconscious habit of mine.

Matt noticed the gesture, and raised his eyebrows. "What happened there?" he asked.

I tugged my sleeve down in an attempt to hide what had already been seen. "I fell," I said. Just another lie to add to my growing repertoire. Kennedy shot a glance at me. I knew she knew the probable cause of the bruise.

"Matt!" Josh shouted from the other side of the stage. "Get your lazy ass over here and help pack up. You can chat later."

Matt grimaced at us and headed back onto the stage. Kennedy and I waited off to the side while they cleaned up, watched while they struck up conversations with other fans who had come up to the stage to say hello. At last the venue cleared out until there were only a few people scattered about, and the band had all their stuff packed away and taken off the stage.

"Almost didn't recognize you when I saw you in the crowd, Anna," Josh said when they finally came down to talk to us, "it's been so long since you've seen us. I was starting to worry you'd lost interest in our shitty band."

"Maybe I did," I said, smiling. It was a much easier thing to do while I was talking to them.

"Then what are you doing here?"

I pointed at Kennedy. "She dragged me here," I said.

Josh turned to her, a smile on his face. "You I _do_ remember," he said. "You've been to almost every show, even when _this_ girl seemed to have forgotten about us."

Kennedy grinned back, her cheeks slightly flushed. "What can I say?" she said. "It's an addiction."

I thought I saw Josh's face tighten up at her words, but a moment later the smile reappeared. "Well thanks, I guess. I'd tell you to find help for it, but then we'd lose our only fan."

"_Fans_," I corrected, feeling slightly hurt.

Josh turned to me, his eyebrows raised. "So you are still a fan, then?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely."

Just then, Ian approached, a bottle of Coke in his hand. "Hey, I want one of those," Josh said. "Get me one."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Get one for yourself. I'm your drummer, Josh, not your slave."

"Same thing," Josh muttered as he walked away, and I laughed. It felt good to hang out with these guys, to forget all the problems that plagued me.

"So how are you ladies?" Ian asked after Josh had left.

"Fine," I answered, maybe a little too quickly. Kennedy nodded.

"Last year of high school for you two, isn't it?"

"Yeah, thank God," I muttered.

"Don't like school?" Ian sat down on a speaker and propped his chin on his fist, looking at me expectantly.

"You could say that." I sighed, and for some reason I found myself telling him all about the Cole incident, how my boyfriend had cheated on me and how now the whole school treated me like I was invisible. "Except for Kennedy," I amended.

"High school kids are bitches," Ian said, nodding sagely. Then he stood and swept both of us into a hug. "It'll get better," he whispered in my ear.

Hastily I wiped at my suddenly watering eyes. Where had this man been when months ago those had been the only words I needed to hear?

_I want you to know that I won't let go again. _

"Ian, what's keeping you?" Josh was walking back towards us, a half-empty bottle of Coke in his hand. "We need to get going."

"Where are you guys in such a hurry to go?" Kennedy asked.

"Denny's. It closes at eleven." Josh grinned at the expressions on our faces. "We always go out to eat after shows. Making music is hungry work. You guys wanna come?"

Kennedy and I shared shocked glances. Quickly, I weighed the consequences of doing such a thing. If my mother ever found out, she would murder me. But who said she had to find out? From the excited gleam in Kennedy's eyes, I could see she had reached the same result. "Absolutely," I said.

"You might have to sit on Matt's lap in the back," Josh said. "We're still using Ian's van, and it gets a little cramped with all the equipment in there."

"You act like that would be a bad thing for them," Ian scoffed, winking at us. I blushed; Matt was definitely cute.

"Sure you're okay with taking us?" Kennedy asked anxiously.

"Of course. How else are we supposed to treat our biggest fans?"

"Your _only_ fans," I corrected with a sly grin.

"If you're our only fans, then we better make extra sure that we don't lose you," Ian said, standing between us and slinging an arm around our shoulders. "Come on, we need to get going."

It was weird in a good way, walking down the dark back hallway with Ian on one side of me and Josh on the other. A month ago – hell, last week – I never would have believed that I'd be going out to eat with the members of my favourite band at ten o'clock at night. And because it still felt so unbelievable I forced myself to push all my worries – my mother's anger, school the next week, the burning in my stomach – to the side and plastered a smile on my face.

_I guess that I can coast along for now._

"It's okay, I'm not hungry."

"Sure you are," Matt said. "I could hear your stomach growling the whole way here. Although maybe that had something to do with the fact that you were sitting on top of me." He grimaced.

"You didn't eat much dinner," Kennedy pointed out. I glared at her. At least she hadn't announced to the whole table how I'd thrown up everything I'd eaten that night.

"I don't have any money."

"Just order something, would you, Anna?" Josh sighed. "Of course we're paying. Actually, Mike is, because he has the highest paying job." He smirked.

"Thanks for the warning," Mike said, smiling down at his menu.

"I can come back in a few minutes if you're not ready," the teen waiter who was serving us said wearily. He looked to be about Matt and Josh's age, and it was obvious he was desperate to get off work.

"_We're_ all ready," Josh said, looking pointedly at me.

"Okay, fine." I scanned the menu briefly. "I'll have...the chicken Caesar salad, please." Hopefully that would be light enough for me to keep it down.

"Thanks. It'll be about ten minutes."

"Are you sure that's all you want, Anna?" Mike asked. "It's not a problem, really."

I smiled weakly at him and took a sip of my diet Pepsi. "It's fine."

When the meal came, I was left staring at it. My stomach growled, loudly enough for everyone to hear – I hadn't eaten a full meal in ages, and I couldn't pretend that I wasn't hungry. Slowly, I raised my fork to my mouth and took a bite. And then another. I willed my stomach to stay calm, to accept the food I was feeding it.

I lasted almost ten minutes before the urges became too great. "I'll be right back," I said, hopping to my feet and practically running to the bathroom.

When I emerged a couple minutes later, after carefully rinsing out my mouth, I saw Josh leaning against the wall.

"The men's washroom is over there," I said, although I knew that wasn't why he was there.

"Are you okay, Anna?" he asked, looking me straight in the eyes. "Seriously?"

I forced myself to nod.

"Because you don't look okay. You look sick. You're thinner than you used to be."

His ice-blue eyes pierced me, and I couldn't move, not even to protest.

"You think I don't know the signs?" He was angry now; he put his hands on my shoulders and gripped them tightly. "You need to _stop_, Anna, stop this now, before it kills you!"

He spun away and then turned back towards me, the pain on his features evident. I was left staring at him in shock, a little frightened.

"Josh, it's not –"

"Are you going to tell me that you didn't go in there and throw up everything you just ate?"

I was silent.

"Anna, you need to stop. I can't watch you do this to yourself – trust me, I've been through enough pain for the both of us."

Again he turned away from me, but this time he didn't look back. He strode away from me, towards the others, and I was left staring after him in shock.

_I feel so ashamed...this used to be easy._

I staggered back against the wall before sinking to the ground. Wrapping my arms around myself, I allowed my hot tears to fall down my cheeks. They burned my skin the way my acidic regurgitations burned my throat.

_I feel so low._


	7. Fix Me

_I don't know how it ever got away._

The heavy spring rain splashed against the window. My reflection in the glass was blurred, an abstract painting – I could hardly recognize myself. But then again, I'd been unable to recognize myself for several months now.

Since the incident at the Denny's in January, I'd kept to myself. Kennedy hadn't asked questions when she'd found me curled up outside the bathroom; she probably knew I wouldn't answer. I wasn't sure I even _knew_ the answer.

Had Josh been bulimic? It was the only solution I could come up with – the only way he could have known what I was doing to myself, the only reason he would have reacted in such a way. And it made me feel even worse, to be doing what I was doing.

I had tried to stop, I really had. But I couldn't; I was in too deep. Surely, if Josh had been through this before, he knew it wasn't that easy?

It made me feel ashamed, the lack of control I had over my own body. I had stopped going out, resisting all of Kennedy's offers even though my official grounding had come to an end. And I definitely couldn't bring myself to see another Marianas Trench concert; I was sure Josh hated me, hated what I had become.

I didn't blame him; I hated what I had become, too. Even after all this time, I wasn't sure how it had happened: how, in less than a year, I had turned my average teenage life into one of hell.

Suddenly, I hated the incessant rain. I jumped to my feet, drawing the curtains over the window before throwing myself down on my bed again. It never stopped raining here, and maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe I needed a change of scenery in order to figure myself out.

The phone on my bedside table rang shrilly, and I forced myself up from my bed in order to answer it. Predictably, it was Kennedy; I had barely greeted her before she launched into conversation.

"We're going out tonight."

I had heard that one before. "No, we're not. I'm not, at least."

"Anna, it's been months since you've left your house. Besides, we've been invited to a party." The excitement in Kennedy's voice was obvious.

I snorted. "A party? Who would invite me to a party? Ken, everyone hates me."

"That's not true." Before I could protest, she continued. "It'll be fun, trust me. Please say you'll come."

"I don't even _like _parties."

"You'll like this one." Something in her tone of voice made me suspicious.

"Why do you say that?"

Kennedy giggled. "Just...say you'll come."

I sighed, partially irritated, partially amused. But my curiosity got the better of me. "Fine."

"Yay!" I could hear Kennedy clap her hands in excitement on the other end of the line and rolled my eyes. "I'll pick you up in an hour. Dress nicely – nicer than you usually do, anyway." She hung up the phone without so much as a goodbye.

It had been a long time since I had dressed up for any occasion. I put on a sweater and a skirt that I considered semi-formal, carefully redid my makeup, and combed my hair straight. I was just putting on the finishing touches when Kennedy rang my doorbell.

When I opened the door she was standing there under an umbrella, grinning. "Ready to go?"

"Just a sec." I turned to call back into my house, "Mom...I'm going out with Kennedy for a bit!"

"Okay!" For once, my mother was sober. She could be nice enough when she wasn't drunk, and I figured it was something I better take advantage of.

_Remember all the ways you fixed me? How will you fix me now?_

"Kennedy, where are you taking me?" She still refused to tell me the details of the party, and drove with a small, knowing smile on her face.

"You'll see soon enough. Just calm down, okay? It'll be fine."

"You don't know that," I grumbled, turning my head to stare out the rain-streaked window.

"Yes, I do." But she refused to say anything further and we spent the rest of the ride in silence. "We're here," she announced some minutes later as we pulled up in the alleyway behind a building. We walked around to the front, and through the rain I could read a sign that said _604 Records._

"Kennedy, this isn't…"

"Yes it is!" she said, jumping up and down excitedly. "C'mon, let's go inside before we get too wet." She pushed open the door, gesturing for me to go first.

"Marianas Trench has been officially signed for a year," she told me as we walked inside. "They invited me to come to their party at the last show I went to. Told me to bring you along, too. They miss you, Anna."

"Did Josh say that?" I asked, sounding bitterer than I meant to.

Kennedy looked at me, concerned. "I'm not sure what happened between you two, but I'm sure he's forgotten about it by now."

I didn't respond, but I knew it was unlikely that he had. And how was I supposed to face him, when I wasn't any better now than I was two months ago?

The room, when we stepped inside, was full and bright and loud. Matt was the first one to spot us, and he ambled over. "Good to see you," he said to Kennedy, before turning to me. "If it isn't the magical disappearing lady! Been a couple months since anyone's seen you around." He smiled warmly at me so I knew he was kidding.

I blushed anyway. "Haven't been feeling well…" I mumbled. I had wondered if Josh had told him what had happened between us, but I knew now that he hadn't. I was ashamed for thinking it in the first place; after all, I hadn't told Kennedy what I now knew about Josh. I forced a smile and looked up at Matt, changing the subject. "So, a whole year, huh? How come I still only have the same six songs to listen to?"

"A recording contract's not much good if you're not recording anything," he agreed. "But we're working on it, slowly – it takes a lot of money we don't have to produce anything worthwhile."

"One day, you won't have to worry about paying recording fees," I said, trying to sound optimistic. Honestly, it hurt me to think about this band's future.

"Still got a long way to go before that happens. Come on, the rest of the band's over here."

I was nervous, but I followed him anyway. I was looking forward to talking to Mike and Ian, of course, but I didn't want to see Josh. Would he be disappointed? Would he get angry again?

Instead, he just smiled and greeted us warmly. Instantly, I relaxed. Had I spent the last two months avoiding them for no reason?

I allowed myself a smile – a real one this time – and threw my arms around him.

_All the times I tried to steal my best for you._

Several hours passed before Josh approached me. By that time I had been introduced to the people working at 604 Records, as well as several of the band members' friends, and was feeling much more comfortable.

"Anna? Can I speak with you for a minute?"

Reluctantly I pulled myself away from the group of people I had found myself a part of, trying to quell the butterflies that had sprung up in my stomach. I was fairly sure what he wanted to talk to be about.

Josh led me towards a back room. There were no windows inside, but several couches and chairs and a low table. Fluorescent lights set in the ceiling lit it up. I noticed several guitars leaning against the wall.

"I write in here, sometimes," he said. "But take a seat, please."

Slowly, I sank down on one of the couches. Josh sat across from me and leaned forward on his knees.

"Anna, are you okay?"

I nodded, keeping my eyes focused on my lap.

"Look, I'm sorry."

That was one thing I was not expecting to hear; I glanced up quickly and met his eyes. "Sorry for _what_?"

"For lashing out at you the way I did when I…found you. You didn't deserve that."

I didn't know what to say. "Thanks," I whispered at last.

"Has it gotten better?"

I shook my head, dropping my gaze again.

"I didn't think so. I know better than anyone how hard it is to stop." He paused. "I want you to know that I – that all of us guys – we'll always be here for you, when you need it." He paused again, suddenly almost shy. "I've been working on a new song recently. I – I think I'd like you to hear it."

I nodded, at a loss of words, strangely apprehensive. Josh rose to his feet, strode over to the wall and picked up a guitar before walking back and sitting down. He cleared his throat awkwardly, strummed the guitar a few times, before beginning.

"_All the times I tried to steal my best for you. And I threw it up to keep it down, and watched it burn, I hate the sound… I, I know just how you feel._" He glanced up at me once before lowering his head again. "_'Cause I don't know how it ever got away._

"_I still feel all the things I did before, when you used to need it more. Remember all the ways you fixed me? How will you fix me now? _

"_And if you're ever feeling you're bruised and battered always sore, I won't tell no one, just breathe, breathe."_

"Josh, I–" I attempted to interject. He raised one hand off the strings to put a finger to his lips, smiling. Then he launched into the second verse.

"_I'd rip it out if that would make you feel it more. And I know you hate to watch me pout, and tear it off and scream it out…I, I know that even though you're breaking, you'll get sick and terrified._

"_I still feel all the things I did before, when you used to need it more. Remember all the ways you fixed me? How will you fix me now? _

"_And if you're ever feeling you're bruised and battered always sore, I won't tell no one, just breathe, breathe."_

His fingers stopped strumming the guitar and he looked up at me as the song came to an end. "I know exactly how you feel, Anna," he said softly. "And I know how hard it is. But if you ever need help…I'm here."

I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to stop the tears from overflowing my eyes. The song meant more than I could ever say, but instead of thanks what came out of my mouth was, "Why did you do it?"

"Because to not eat at all was too obvious," was his first blunt answer. And then he sighed. "Because, like a lot of kids, I was depressed. I hated everything about myself, and I thought I was fat. I was a fucked up teenager. I still am, in a lot of ways."

"How did you save yourself?" I asked softly.

"I didn't save myself; music did. And my friends; they stayed with me through everything. Does Kennedy know?"

I shook my head.

"You don't have to…but I think you should tell her. If she's your best friend, she'll understand. And she'll want to help you."

I thought about that for a moment. "Thanks," I said, rising to my feet. "Really. You've been more helpful than I could have hoped for."

For the rest of the night I mulled over his words, and when Kennedy was driving me home I finally found the courage.

"Kennedy…I have to tell you something."

_I won't tell no one...just breathe, breathe._

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><p><strong>Author's Note: So my iTunes tells me Fix Me was produced in 2007, but for the sake of this story let's pretend it was first written in 2004, alright? <strong>

**Review please!  
><strong>


	8. Primetime

**Author's Note: Sorry about the long delay: My excuses range from being hit by a new idea and spending a week planning a novel, to having two other fanfics to write, one novel to edit, and two fanfics in the work. I'm a terrible person who doesn't know how to balance herself. **

**Anyway: Chapter 7! Enjoy :)**

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><p><em>This is the falling; you are the underground. <em>

Seeming to recognize the serious tone in my voice and the half-panicked look in my eyes, Kennedy pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road. It was dark out by now, and it was still pouring, the rain turning the light from the streetlamps into watery circles. For a moment we sat in silence, the tinny sound of the rain pounding on the car the only thing that could be heard.

"What is it?" she asked, seeming to sense that I needed urging.

I could feel panic bubbling up within me. I couldn't tell her; my lips seemed glued together and I ran over the words in my head, trying to find the courage to spit them out.

_I'm bulimic._ It sounded so much harsher, put in such terms. I couldn't fight down the fear that this would change things between Kennedy and me. We had been best friends since we were children and yet I couldn't trust her, not with this. _Or maybe you don't trust yourself,_ a small voice at the back of my mind whispered.

Kennedy watched me patiently, worry clouding her eyes as I continued to struggle with the truth. At last I decided to tell her in the least direct way possible, a way in which those words didn't come out sounding so hard and cold.

"Remember when Josh took me into that back room earlier?"

"Yeah?" Her worry had been replaced by excitement, and I knew she was thinking something that was completely the opposite of what I was trying to say. "What happened?"

"Kennedy! Nothing like that. We just...talked. And then he...sang me a song."

"'Nothing like that' my ass –"

"Kennedy,_ listen,_" I told her, urgently. "It's not _like that,_ I told you that already."

Finally realizing the gravity of the situation, Kennedy stilled the grin that had been creeping onto her face. "Then what is it?"

"It's just – he helped me come to terms with something I've been struggling with. And he told me that I should tell you, because you ought to know. But I've been so scared – and I really thought I could handle this on my own – and I was afraid of what you would think of me –" I was rambling, and took a deep, shuddering breath to calm myself down.

"Anna, please tell me what's wrong." Kennedy's eyes were wide and sincere, her mouth puckered with confusion.

I took another deep breath and closed my eyes and placed my head in my hands. And, mumbling the words through the spaces between my fingers, I told her.

_This is the dying, you are the disease._

"How long?" Kennedy asked me. She was dazed and a little shocked, but didn't sound angry so I lifted my head from my hands.

"Since September," I said tentatively. It suddenly struck me that September had been six months ago – six months I had spent with this disease eating away at me.

"And it never once occurred to you that maybe this is something I'd want to know? It was something you could tell Josh about, but not your _best friend_ –" She was angry now; I could see tears gathering in the corners of her eyes before she turned away.

"No, that's not it," I pleaded with her. "I couldn't tell you, because I was afraid...that you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore once you know something was so _wrong_ with me."

"Of course I –" Kennedy began, but now that I had started talking the words wouldn't stop pouring out of me, and I spoke over her.

"And I didn't tell Josh, not really. He found out on his own."

"How –?" Kennedy's eyes widened in realization. "At the Denny's?"

I nodded miserably.

"So that's why you avoided the band for so long," Kennedy mused. "And why you were so worried about seeing him again. But...how did he find out?"

For a moment I debated between telling her the truth and making up a cover story for Josh. I had already promised myself that that I wouldn't lie to Kennedy again, but in being honest I didn't want to reveal Josh's secret.

"He saw me coming out of the bathroom," I said at last. "He recognized the signs. He said he had – a friend – once, who suffered from the same problems." _There_, I thought. That wasn't really lying, was it?

Kennedy looked at me sadly. "I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" I asked, baffled.

"For not being someone you could confide in earlier. For not recognizing the signs for myself. That's what you were doing that day I caught you, wasn't it? You weren't feeling sick at all."

"I was," I told her. "But it was a different sickness than what you thought."

She nodded, turning her eyes back to the road and the sheeting rain. "You can trust me, you know," she said to the steering wheel. "I'm your best friend – I'll be by your side for everything you have to go through. I promise."

My heart broke a little at the thought of her not feeling herself trustworthy. "I did trust you. I just – I was ashamed, of what I was doing and what I had become. And I was afraid that if I told you, you'd leave me, like everyone else in my life."

"I won't leave you," she said quietly, still speaking to the steering wheel in front of her.

"And I won't lie to you again," I swore. Already I felt a million times lighter than I had earlier that evening; weights I hadn't even been aware of had been lifted off of me and I felt free for the first time in months. Josh had been right – even now I berated myself for keeping the truth from Kennedy for so long.

"Good. And if anything like this ever happens to me, you'll be the first to know." She started the car up again and began driving slowly down the street.

"I hope it doesn't," I said as sincerely as I could. "It's horrible."

We sat in introspective silence for the rest of the ride, but when she pulled up in front of my house I threw my arms around her.

"Thanks," I said. "For everything."

When I pulled back, I saw there was a small smile on her face. "It's what I'm here for," she said. "Be careful, Anna."

I nodded before opening the car door and sliding out. Kennedy waved to me as she pulled out of the driveway and soon disappeared down the street.

It was late; the house was already dark and I let myself in as quietly as possible. I was still too keyed up to sleep, so instead I made my way into the study and started up the computer. There was an idea in the back of my head, something I'd been vaguely thinking about for awhile now. It would be good for me in the long run, I thought, but would hurt at first, which was why I hadn't told Kennedy yet. There was no need to worry her until I was sure.

It was almost 2 A.M. when I switched the computer off, satisfied with the information I'd gained. Tired at last, I stumbled up to my room and fell into bed. For the first time in almost a year, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

_This is the retro; you are the out-of-style._

The next morning, I broached the idea to my parents. I told them about the research I'd done, and after some thought and a fair bit of argumentation, they agreed. Over the next week, they helped me fill out the paperwork, and it was with a light feeling of relief that I mailed it off, hoping I wasn't too late.

My life was turning around, I could feel it. My marks started going up again in school; I spent much of my free time with Kennedy and we started hanging out with Josh, Matt, Mike, and Ian – as friends, a concept that thrilled me.

Eventually Josh convinced me to tell his band mates what was going on with me and why I performed so many disappearing acts, as Matt called them. They were more supportive than I could have asked for, although maybe it's what I should have expected. After all, they had already helped Josh through his own battle with this disease.

My confession seemed to bring us all closer together. A year ago, I wouldn't have believed it possible to be good friends with the members of the band I idolized. A year ago, I hadn't even known these boys existed. It seemed shocking to me now, that such a big part of my life had at one point been missing.

There was still my mother and her drunken rages, and my father and his incompetence, to deal with, but with my plan in mind it was easier to ignore. I dealt with them as I always had: by pretending to be invisible and by throwing up a wall of silence whenever necessary.

At the end of April, I received the confirmation that I had been waiting for. I felt that this was proof that my future was going to turn around, and I decided to take one of the biggest steps for myself.

Which was how I found myself here, locked in my bathroom at seven o'clock on a Thursday night, desperately battling the urges within me. I had tried this before and had never succeeded, but I felt that this time I could; I was struck with a new determination, with the strength of my friends behind me and a glimmer of hope ahead.

I stared into the depths of the toilet bowl before swallowing back the bile in my throat and resolutely closing the lid. _No more,_ I said to myself, to the disease eating away at me. _I'm not letting you control me anymore._

Shakily, I staggered to my feet and looked into the mirror. My face was flushed and I still looked sickly, but I thought I could get better. Slowly, a small smile curved my lips. I could do this.

_This is the once-was, you are the has-been._

It wasn't that easy, of course. This wasn't something I could just _stop,_ no matter how hard I tried. No matter how much I wanted to.

Several hours passed easily enough that night. I sat downstairs and watched TV with my family for the first time in years. I went to bed and attempted to ignore the uneasiness in my stomach. I fell asleep –

– Only to be awoken in the middle of the night by an urge I couldn't ignore. Feeling sick to my stomach with more than the food that was trying to force its way up my throat, I rushed to the bathroom and collapsed to my knees before the toilet.

Warm, salty, bittersweet tears were falling down my cheeks, and they joined the remains of my food in the toilet bowl. I closed my eyes, not even trying to fight the heaves that wracked my body.

Finally, I pushed my leaden body up off the tile floor. I flushed the toilet and rinsed out my mouth. I went back to bed –

– And I lay on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling and wondering what it would take to get my life back.

_This is the deep end, you are the drowning – I'm in over my head. _

* * *

><p><strong>AN: As always, let me know what you think. Chapter 8 is already underway, but I want to try to update my other stories as well so I don't know how long it'll be.**


	9. Decided to Break It

_A thousand promises that never seemed to help me before._

"I don't know how to stop," I told Josh as frankly as I could the next time I saw him. We were alone, because I had asked for a moment to speak to him – I had pulled him into the back corner of a coffee shop while the others stood at the front, deciding loudly what to order. The support of everyone else was wonderful, of course, and I appreciated it immensely, but I felt that Josh was the only one who truly understood, the only one who might actually offer help instead of words of encouragement. "How did you do it?"

He looked at me thoughtfully. "I'm not sure," he said after a moment of silence. "It took time and...finding something else to focus my attention on."

Curious, I asked, "What did you find? To distract you?"

Josh suddenly looked uncomfortable, and was saved from answering by the arrival of Matt, who was holding two coffees. "Kennedy's got yours," he told me, handing one of them to Josh.

My conversation with Josh was effectively cut off as the others joined us, and we all went to sit around a circular table in the back.

"So, Anna," Mike asked after we had settled down, "what is it you wanted to talk to us about?"

I looked around at them, suddenly apprehensive. They – all of them – were the closest, best friends I'd ever had. How could I be sure that I was doing the right thing?

But no; I already knew that staying where I was wasn't the answer for me. And maybe what I was planning on doing wouldn't be the right thing, in the long run, but I could at least say that I tried.

I raised my cup of coffee to my lips before lowering it without taking a sip, spinning it between my palms and not meeting anyone's eyes. "I'm leaving," I said at last, quietly.

Kennedy was the first to say something. "What – what do you mean?"

"I'm leaving," I repeated. "I'm going to OCAD in the fall. I got accepted a couple of weeks ago."

"Why didn't you tell me? I thought, after everything that happened, that there wouldn't be any more secrets..." Kennedy sounded close to tears, and I looked up at her apologetically.

"I know, and there wasn't supposed to be. I wasn't sure I'd be accepted, and then I wasn't sure if it was what I wanted...but now I think it's what I need." I took a deep breath. "I love all of you, and I appreciate what you've done for me more than I can say, but I can't stay here. I need to get _away_, in order to get better." I looked at Josh, begging him to understand, and he nodded slowly, although his eyes didn't quite meet mine.

"Are you sure?" Kennedy asked.

I nodded. "Yes," I said firmly. "I can't...get a grip on myself while I'm here. There's too many...bad memories, things that just pull me back down, you know?"

"I guess," Kennedy said sadly, sounding a little hurt. I knew she probably didn't understand, not really; but then again, I didn't know how she could. She would never fall victim to the same demons that haunted me, and she would never have to struggle with shaking them off, the way I had every day for the past two months—for the past year, really.

"It's not you," I said, knowing all at once why she sounded sad, why she seemed hurt. "You've been the best friend I could have asked for, and you've helped me so much – but the rest I need to handle on my own. And to do that I need to get away from the things that are hurting me."

"I know, and it's okay," Kennedy said with a forced smile, "it's just that...I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. "All of you."

"Us, too," Matt chimed in. "I mean, what are we going to do without you, Anna? We'll lose fifty percent of our fanbase!"

"Is that all you're worried about?" Ian chided him. "I would think that by now Anna would be more than just a fan to you."

"She is," Matt said seriously. "She's a fan who sometimes brings me food. I don't know how I'll survive without her."

I laughed, feeling at once both more and less sad. It was true; in our free time, Kennedy and I had often baked and would sometimes bring our treats to shows to share with the boys. Matt had taken a particular liking to our sugar cookies. "Kennedy can still bring you food," I reminded him. "And besides, you won't be losing fifty percent of your fanbase. You have more than two fans now." This was true, too: at the past few shows the venues had been almost crowded, and Kennedy and I had sometimes had to fight to get our spots at the front.

"Oh, right. I guess it _is_ just you I'll be missing, then." And in a gesture totally uncharacteristic of Matt, he leaned out of his chair and threw his arms around me in a tight hug.

That seemed to be some sort of cue, like the loud noise that triggers an avalanche, because in the next seconds they had all piled on top of me, almost spilling my coffee, until I could hardly breathe beneath the weight of them. They were compressing my heart, and I felt a warm, happy, painful ache within me – because I loved them all, more than anything, and I couldn't bear that I would have to lose them.

I wasn't completely content though, because by lifting my head a millimetre, I could just barely see over the top of Mike's curls – and I could see that Josh hadn't joined the hug at all. He was sitting, separate and silent, staring moodily into the depths of his cup.

* * *

><p><em>All the sick things that make you pull out your hair<em>

Josh remained silent throughout the rest of our meeting, and when we finally stood up to leave the coffee shop he laid a restraining hand on my arm. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked me quietly.

"What is it?" I asked exasperatedly, still annoyed at how he had been acting.

"You're making a mistake," he said simply.

I blinked at him. "In what way?" I asked, my voice cool.

"I don't think you should go."

"Why _not_?"

Josh said nothing; he seemed to be contemplating his next words. I was too angry to wait for him.

"So I've finally found something that seems _right_, something that might help me escape the _hell_ my life has become, and you don't want me to go? Can't you at least _pretend _to be happy for me?"

Still Josh said nothing, and, feeling more upset than I was willing to admit, I turned from him.

Again, his hand on my arm pulled me back. Slowly, I turned to face him.

"Heroin," he said in a low, tense voice.

"What?" I stared at him incomprehensibly.

"You asked what I found to distract myself. The answer is heroin." When I didn't say anything, he pressed on, his tone urgent. "Look, I don't know if what you're planning to do is right. If it weren't for my friends, I wouldn't be alive right now. I know what you're going through, and you shouldn't be running away from us."

"It's not you I'm running away from," I said tightly, pushing through the door a half step ahead of him. Except, now, I _was _running from him – his words, his admission, swirled through my brain, making me angrier with every second that passed, with every stride I took. I made it halfway down the sidewalk, almost to where the others were waiting at the car, before I spun around to face him. "Why didn't you tell me?" I shouted, loud enough for everyone in front of us to hear. "What about everything you told me about not keeping secrets?"

Betrayed. That was a good word for how I felt right now.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to know how badly I fucked up!" Josh said, just as forcefully. "I wanted you to find a safer way out, instead of taking the same path I took!"

"I'm not _going_ to take the same path you took! I could never be that stupid!"

Josh's eyes flashed, and I couldn't tell whether it was with pain or anger or both. "I'm sorry," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "for trying to help you. I'm sorry for not realizing that there's some types of mistakes you're not capable of making. Silly me."

And now he was the one turning from me, and running down the street in the opposite direction.

"Josh, wait!" I called after him, the anger blowing out of me suddenly, replaced by something very close to guilt. I stood on the sidewalk, torn between chasing after him and letting him be. I heard the others come up behind me.

"What happened?" Mike asked, and I realized that our argument had been more than loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I – uh..." I stopped there, aware that Kennedy was listening and that she didn't yet know this last of Josh's secrets. "We had an argument. About me leaving."

"Josh can be unreasonable sometimes," Ian sighed.

_So can I_, I thought, feeling ashamed over my outburst.

"I'll go find him," Matt said, before jogging after Josh. I watched him go, feeling sad and torn.

"Josh is wrong," I said, more to myself than anything. "This _is_ the right decision for me. I know it is."

* * *

><p><em>With nothing left to think I'll probably sit around and ignore the apathy that always leads me.<em>

Two weeks went by before I got to see them again. With every day that passed I felt more and more guilty for what I'd said to Josh, for how the connection between us had suddenly become strained and broken, painful.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing I said to Josh when we met up with them on the sidewalk outside of 604 Records, where they had just gotten out of a meeting with their manager. "I didn't mean those things I said. You're not stupid; you're the strongest person I know."

Josh shot me an easy smile. That was the thing about Josh; his grudges left him almost as soon as they came. "You're strong, too, Anna," he said gently. "Stronger than me, if you actually think you can escape everything that's holding you down."

The problem was that I didn't know if I could escape it; but just the fact that he believed in me was enough to make me try. I threw my arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"Now that you guys have made up," Matt interrupted, "can we go? I'm starving."

"Of course you are," Mike said, rolling his eyes. "But yeah, we better go – Matt tends to get cranky when he hasn't eaten."

* * *

><p><em>And the apathy that always leads me always finds a way to break me down<em>

We ended up at a McDonalds just down the street from their record label, and the six of us piled into a booth at the back.

I looked around the table quietly at all of them, eating and chatting and laughing – Matt, who was just as silent as me, tearing into his burger; Josh, sipping at his diet coke and looking amused; Mike and Ian and Kennedy, who were engaged in a debate about...something.

I had no food in front of me, and no one asked me why. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have been able to eat anyway; my stomach was in knots, and I felt faintly sick.

This was the last time I would see them all like this, for several months at least. Next week, Marianas Trench would be leaving on their first cross-country tour, opening for some band I hadn't heard of. They wouldn't be back until early September, and I was leaving for Ontario at the end of August.

"I'm going to miss you," I said, interrupting their conversation. "Really. A lot." It was something I'd already said, but I felt as if I couldn't say it enough. I was overcome by an emotion I couldn't quite define – doubt, maybe, over whether I was doing the right thing; sorrow, over leaving them, over never coming back to this moment. Because somehow I knew that when I returned to Vancouver, things would be different.

"We'll miss you too, Anna-cakes," Ian said seriously, "really."

"Maybe I shouldn't go."

"No," Josh said immediately, "you should."

"Do you think leaving will really help you overcome your problems?" Mike asked.

"Yes," I said after a moment.

"Then it's something you need to do," he said simply.

I sighed deeply, and I felt tears sting my eyes. "I just hate," I said, "how, in order to find myself, I have to leave everything else behind."

_And that's when I decided to break it._


	10. Say Anything

_This is where I scream from._

The shrill ringing of the phone jolted me from my unfeeling haze. Slowly I rolled off my bed and walked across the room to pick up the phone, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. It was Kennedy, I was sure; she made sure to call at least twice a week to check on me.

"Hey!" she shouted as soon as I answered, and I winced – her voice was much too loud in my ear, and I could hear clanging noise in the background. "What's up?"

"Not much," I replied. "I've just been...uh –" my eyes landed on the stack of unopened books sitting on my desk – "studying."

"You're always studying," Kennedy complained. "Don't you ever do anything else? Don't you ever go out and have fun?"

"Occasionally," I lied. "My roommate sometimes invites me to her friends' parties." This was true; I just always declined.

"What's your roommate like?"

"She's...nice." And I guess Sabrina was nice enough; it was just that, more often than not, she'd come back to our room smelling of smoke or so drunk she could hardly walk.

There was a commotion on the other end of the line, and some voices I couldn't quite make out, and I could tell Kennedy was no longer attending to our conversation. After a moment she said, rather breathlessly, "Someone wants to talk to you."

I was mystified, until a familiar voice sounded in my ear. "Anna!"

"Ian?"

"Who else?" he laughed. "How are you doing?"

For some reason, it was so much harder to lie to Ian than it was to lie to my best friend. "I'm good, just tired. I had a busy day." A day in which I'd once again skipped my classes and spent my time hiding away in my room. "How about you?"

"I'm fantastic," Ian said happily. "The band's really picked up ground since we got back from our tour. It's still not the same without you here, though."

"Of course not," I said, only partly achieving the lightness I was aiming for.

"Are you coming home for Christmas?" Ian asked, suddenly serious.

"Yeah," I sighed. "My parents want me home."

"Well, it'll be good to see you again. We miss you, Anna."

"_Hey, Ian, lend a hand would you?_"

Ian sighed. "I gotta go pack up," he said. "But I think Mike wants to talk to you anyway." There was the rustle of static and voices shouting in the background as he passed the phone over.

"What's this I hear about you coming home?" Mike's voice crackled over the line.

"Yeah. For Christmas break." I did my best to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, but even over four thousand kilometers, Mike saw right through me.

"You don't sound overly excited."

I knew I had to be careful with Mike—he was the most perceptive of the guys.

"Don't get me wrong, I can't wait to see you again...but I really like it here."

"What's it like?" Mike asked curiously, and I breathed a sigh of relief at the change in conversation.

"It doesn't rain as much."

He laughed. "I imagine that's true for a great deal of places."

"But everyone's really nice here. My professors are great and my classes are great and...yeah."

"I'm really glad to hear things are going so well for you, Anna," Mike said warmly.

"They are," I said, feeling awfully guilty.

"Well, Matt's a little...indisposed right now, but I think Josh wants to talk to you."

"It was nice talking to you, Mike," I said, trying to mean it.

"You, too. Stay in touch, all right?" Before I had the chance to make a promise I wouldn't keep, Mike handed the phone over to Josh.

The background noise faded, and I knew Josh had moved somewhere quieter to talk to me. "How's the battle?" he asked.

I swallowed thickly. Lying to Josh was the hardest thing of all. "I'm getting there," I said. "But it's...hard, you know?"

"I do," Josh said. "But at least you're trying. I'm proud of you, Anna."

"Thanks," I whispered, feeling suddenly choked up, feeling horrible for the untruths I was telling all of them.

Shortly after that, Josh handed the phone back to Kennedy, who rambled on about what a great concert I'd missed, about how she wished I could be there, about how she'd call back soon, before saying her goodbyes and hanging up. To be honest, I wasn't really listening; my thoughts had become stuck on the words Josh had said.

"_But at least you're trying. I'm proud of you, Anna."_

_At least you're trying._

_I'm proud of you, Anna._

A tear I hadn't even been aware of trickled down my cheek, followed by another. How had things become so fucked up so quickly? How had I let my determination to fix myself fade away into something unimaginable, impossible?

College was nothing like what I had imagined it would be; I had thought that I would make new friends, find a group to fit in with, that the urges that besieged me day and night would fade away if I removed myself from their root.

It turned out that moving to the other side of the country didn't make me into a different, more desirable person; I had as few friends as ever—less, if you consider the only true friends I had before were still in Vancouver—and that the problems I'd been struggling with were even more difficult to handle when I didn't have a support system to fall back on. I had a roommate who barely acknowledged my existence, classes full of people I couldn't talk to, professors who didn't even know my name. At another time, another place, maybe I would have been glad for the anonymity, but here I found that being alone made me sick for home and so lonely it hurt.

And I couldn't bear to tell Kennedy or Josh or any of the others about my struggles, I couldn't bear to tell them what had become of my success story. I didn't want to hear the disappointment in Josh's voice or Kennedy begging me to come home. I _couldn't_ go home, not until I'd at least picked up some of the pieces and managed to assemble together some semblance of my former life.

That was why I had lied to them on the phone; that was why I had avoided contacting them first; that was why I was dreading going home for Christmas. I wasn't ready to face them yet, to pretend to be happy, to pretend everything was better than it had been before. And maybe I never would be—and in my heart I thought that that was most likely the case, because it felt like I never _would _be happy—but that didn't mean that I was prepared at this moment to act like everything was okay, or to tell them that I'd been wrong, that I'd fucked up, that I was more broken than I'd ever been.

I was so broken, so empty that I didn't even feel the tears dripping from my eyes, didn't know they were there until I raised my hand wonderingly to touch the wetness on my cheeks, and I didn't hear the key turning in the lock and the door opening and closing again until my roommate stood by my bed, looking down on me.

"You look like shit," she informed me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, twisting my head on my pillow to look up at her and ignoring her comment. As usual, Sabrina's face was heavily caked in makeup, her hair in an elaborate knot behind her head, her clothes low-cut and tight and smelling of smoke.

"What, I can't walk into my own room? I live here too, you know."

"You're in here so rarely, I'd almost forgotten."

She looked me over, her dark eyes taking in my red and swollen ones, my wet cheeks, my tangled hair. "Maybe if you spent _less_ time in here, you wouldn't be such a mess," she observed.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, although I wasn't really hurt by her comment—nothing really had the ability to hurt me anymore, I was so numb.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "There's a party down on floor seven tonight. You should come."

"Am I even invited?"

"Of course you are! I mean, I was, so no one will mind if you come along."

I snorted. "Everyone hates me, Sabrina."

"They do not! Or at least, they wouldn't if you actually bothered talking to them."

"Me talk to them?" I stared at her incredulously. "Maybe they should try talking to me!"

Sabrina sighed. "Maybe they _would_, if you weren't so distant, so closed off, all the time. C'mon, Anna, live a little!"

_I've forgotten how_, I almost said, but didn't—Sabrina didn't need to know the details of my broken life.

"I think I'll pass," I said firmly.

Sabrina took me by the arm and pulled me until I half-fell off the bed. "I'm not going to take no for an answer."

"You can't _make_ me go."

"Oh yes, I can."

Her will was stronger than mine, and in the end I gave up; after all, maybe a distraction was all I needed. Sighing, I let her drag me across the room and into the bathroom.

* * *

><p><em>Hurts the same when nobody knows; I guess that's just how it goes, and I won't say anything at all.<em>

The room was dark and smoky and loud, and I stood uncomfortably in the doorway, tugging awkwardly on the hem of the dress Sabrina had made me put on. It was too small—at least in my eyes; Sabrina declared it fit perfectly.

Already I knew that coming was a bad idea.

"Come on!" Sabrina said eagerly, taking my hand and dragging me into the crowded dorm room.

"I really don't think I should be here."

"Why?" Sabrina asked blithely. "Because you're underage? So is almost everyone else."

"You know that's not what I meant," I hissed. "I don't _belong_ here."

"You only don't belong because you won't let yourself belong. Come on, Anna, live a little. Let go a little."

I sighed, because it seemed like I didn't have much choice.

_And anyway, _a small part of me whispered, _why shouldn't you try to live a little, instead of simply surviving? What could it hurt?_

"Alright," I said grudgingly, and, grinning triumphantly, Sabrina pulled me over to a tight-knit group of kids in the corner. "This is Anna, my roommate," she introduced. "Anna, meet Kyle, David, Leslie, Will, and Taylor."

"Want a drink?" one of the guys—Kyle?—asked, offering a bottle of beer to me.

"Sure." I took it and had a sip; the liquid was thin and bitter-tasting, not at all to my liking, but I smiled and had another sip anyway. I had a feeling that I would need the alcohol if I was going to fit in at all tonight. "Nice to meet you."

* * *

><p><em>There's a better bit of me to see yet, 'cause you haven't seen any of my best.<em>

I wasn't entirely sure how I had ended up here. 'Here' was sitting in a circle on the ground with a group of people I'd met mere hours before, squished between a bed and the wall in a dark bedroom; the room was full of a dark, smelly smoke, and a bong was being passed around.

My head was spinning. Not from the weed—I hadn't had any of that, or at least not that I could remember—but from the alcohol I'd consumed. I'd lost count of exactly how many drinks I'd consumed, but it was enough to make everything funny and my vision blurry around the edges. It was enough to make the emptiness, the numbness, inside of me feel..._good_.

So this is what it felt like to be alive.

"So, Anna, why are you here?" someone asked me—I couldn't make out his features through the smoke and darkness, and I wouldn't have remembered his name anyway.

"Here?" I blinked stupidly.

"You know," I could see him gesturing vaguely, "here. Don't remember seeing you around before."

"Oh. My roommate made me come." I came to the sudden realization that Sabrina wasn't anywhere to be seen, that I hadn't, in fact, seen her for several hours. "She thought I spent too much time alone." The alcohol in my system made me far more candid than usual.

"She was probably right."

"I'm used to being alone," I defended myself. "I like it."

"No one likes being alone," a girl said.

"How would you know?"

"We all know what it's like to be alone. Why do you think we're here?"

"Do you? Do you know what it's like to be so alone because you hate yourself and it seems like everyone else must too, because you can't help but lie to your closest friends because the truth makes you ashamed. Do you know what it's like to be so alone that you can't even feel _anything_ anymore?"

My voice cracked, and I blinked my eyes in surprise; it was the most I'd said all night.

"Yes," the girl said, calmly, as if my outburst was nothing. "Of course we do."

For some reason, I believed her. Maybe it was the way she spoke so evenly, or because her eyes were so compassionate. "Then how," I whispered, "did you make yourself feel again?"

This time, a girl seated to my right answered; she passed the bong over to me before digging through her purse and emerging a moment later with something clasped in her hand. When she opened her palm, I saw something glinting in the low lighting. A piece of metal. A razor blade.

I sucked in my breath sharply, accidentally inhaling some of the smoke.

"We cut so we can feel," she informed me, holding the sharp blade out to me. I took it slowly, hesitantly, with a trembling hand. They were all watching me. I closed my fingers around the cold metal, tightly enough that I could feel its edges dig into my skin. The girl held out her arm to me and I could see thin lines climbing like a ladder, from her wrist to her elbow.

"Does it work?" I breathed, examining the cuts on her arms. They were...beautiful, in a way.

"It works," she said with a tight smile.

I wanted to believe her.

* * *

><p><em>Not another piece of me.<em>

Later that night, I stood examining myself in the mirror. My face was ghostly pale, my hair limp. Black smudges underscored my eyes. All the effort Sabrina had put into making me look good, making me look _alive_, had faded as the night had worn on.

I didn't look alive anymore. I didn't feel alive, either. I examined the blade I still had clutched in my hand, where I had held onto it like it was a lifeline, an escape, ever since it had been handed to me a couple of hours before. The fluorescent bathroom lights flickered off of the silver surface entrancingly, tantalizingly.

_We cut so we can feel._ At one point in my life, not too long before, I would have done anything to prevent myself from feeling; now it was all I wanted. I missed home, I missed my old life, I missed having the strength to even _contemplate_ breaking my habits; I missed unforced laughter, I missed talking to people, I missed being able to cry.

Even now, when I was on the cusp of making a decision that I _knew_ would ruin my life even more than it already was, I couldn't bring tears to my eyes. I couldn't bring myself to feel anything other than a vague curiosity.

Surely even real, physical pain was better than feeling nothing at all?

With a shaking hand, I pressed the cool edge of the blade against my skin. I left it there for a moment, staring at the small indentation it made. And then, quickly, before I could think about it, I pressed down.

Vibrant red droplets welled up where the blade had sliced my skin. I touched the blood with my finger, watching as the bright colour spread. It seemed almost unbelievable that such a colour could live inside of me, could be racing through my unfeeling veins.

For the first time, I could see the draw of cutting; in the times when I felt most unfeeling and dead, it would prove to me that I was still alive.

_I cut myself so I could feel something I know is not a lie._


End file.
